


The Plague of Farawaia

by InsaneWeasel



Category: Thomas Sanders
Genre: Fairy-tale, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 21:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12566492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneWeasel/pseuds/InsaneWeasel
Summary: The Prince of Farawaia is convinced that an evil warlock had caused a plague that has caused the King (Thomas) to become ill and bedridden as well as their darling healer, Patton! He sets out to find the Warlock and break the plague!OrThe time Thomas got the flu.





	The Plague of Farawaia

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh. First work here, long time writer however at Fanfiction.net/Wattpad/Tumblr. Not sure really what to say, but I'll probably post this elsewhere too--I usually just throw a Fanfiction somewhere and see where most of the fandom is--if they're not here, I'll check someplace else!

 

_Once upon a time lived an evil Warlock and a Beautiful Prince in a land in Farawia. That absolutely gorgeous and stunning Prince was the fair ruler of his kingdom, next in line for the throne until a dark plague washed over the kingdom, courtesy of the Warlock. The King and the court’s beloved Jester and Healer, Patton had fallen ill. The Prince had to ride to face the Warlock._

Roman, elegant and a brave prince was not as kept as he usually was. His hair was tousled, his sash askew, and he felt his heart beating painfully in his chest. “Father?” He opened the heavy door to his father’s room and spotted his father, Thomas, lying ill in bed. Coughing and curled up on his side, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Roman cautiously edged towards his bed. “Father, can I get you anything?”

“N-” Thomas couldn’t get more than that out, erupting into a coughing fit. Thomas reached for the chalice on his table filled with water, but his shaking hand caused it to slip, crashing to the floor. Roman darted in and quickly filled it back up and held it to his father’s lips to drink. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

“Fine.” Thomas coughed and took a drink. “Not your fault. Go…go have fun. Let me rest.”

But Roman could not. Heart pounding he left the room, his stomach twisting as he quickly wove down the stairs to talk to his advisor, who was still sitting in the Healer’s bedroom. It was connected to the Medical Ward where Patton, the lovely healer, with a cheerful face treated and helped people, but Patton was ill as well, and could not help. Logan sat next to the bed, quietly leaning towards Patton and reading a book out loud about fantasies—something Logan didn’t enjoy himself, but he knew Patton did—as Patton listened in, half-awake, half-asleep. Awoken by his own coughing every few moments.

“How is he?” Roman asked and Logan shook his head. He closed the book gently as Patton began to fall asleep again nestling closer to his pillow and pulling the covers around him tighter. He gestured for Roman to follow him into the hall and they stepped out quietly, the door closing behind them. “He needs medicine—everyone does. A cure, if you will,” Logan said quietly. “We don’t know what we’re treating. I’ve read through every medicine book of Patton’s and then the ones we had in the libraries—there’s nothing on this disease.”

Roman’s stomach fell. He didn’t know what he would do without his father or Patton. “We...there has to be something!” Roman questioned and Logan sighed. He fixed his spectacles and leaned against the door to Patton’s room. “Roman, I’ve search everywhere. The only other option would be seeking the source of the disease—the first infected person or-”

“The Warlock!” Roman accused, and Logan shook his head.

“Roman, we’ve never proved there has been a Warlock. Nor would I jump to demonic influences or magick—they’re hardly ever the cause of most of these illnesses,” Logan said calmly, but he sighed with stress. “We can’t afford you running around and leaping into trouble, if you got hurt…”

Roman shook his head, bit his lip. “Logan, magick is real. Remember the famine—the dying of the crops. You didn’t have a reason for it.”

“I didn’t have enough time to collect information,” Logan said quietly. “Roman, we need to focus on real possibilities. You could help me find more texts, maybe experiment through similar diseases.”

“I’m going to go find the Warlock and force him to give me information about the plague!” Roman declared. Logan shook his head and rubbed at his forehead. Roman grabbed his arm and stared at him seriously. “Logan, be honest, do you want to see Patton well?”

“I want to see everyone healthier—so of course I would like to see Patton in better health, as well as our King and—” Roman just shook his head. Logan eyed him oddly, but rolled his eyes when he understood his point. “Roman.”

Roman smiled, “I will find us our cure. Within half a fortnight! I will be back with our cure and no more plagues will ever rid our realm!”  Logan shook his head, but he put his hand on Roman’s shoulder and stared him in the eyes.

“Be safe, the kingdom cannot afford to lose you either.” Logan stressed, and Roman nodded solemnly.

“Don’t doubt me, my friend. I am far more capable than you give me credit for.”

“I believe you give yourself too much credit,” Logan said, but let Roman go off. The prince strode confidently through the halls, through the meeting areas, past wooing women, and handsome soldiers where he made his way to the stable. He took his trusty horse and pet her mane, staring off into the woods. It was dark, menacing, and far more uncomfortable than it needed to be. He pulled himself onto his horse and took a deep breath. He had an adventure ahead of him.

The prairies flew by under the hooves of his horse, but he felt himself more hesitant as he crossed into the woods. The terrain was difficult, roots, and snares, and all kinds of trouble he was sure of. It was growing dark, the trees blocking out the only sun there was left. The woods were a treacherous place, no man should traverse them often. He rode elegantly, until complete darkness enveloped him.

Foolishly, he hadn’t brought a lantern. Or anything beyond camping supplies he had grabbed last minute. In his head, he had envisioned this going much more smoothly. This was, after all, the first time he had just rode out into the woods, alone, without any idea where he was going. Roman wasn’t inexperienced—he had slayed a dragon (although Logan said it was a large lizard), he had rescued damsels and misters—from uncomfortable situations. He had plenty of experience—just not enough.

“Sure is cold,” Roman muttered and he dismounted from his horse. It was no use, he couldn’t see far enough. He rubbed his arms and rummaged through his bag, pulling out a sleeping bag, some apples, a roll of parchment, a quill, a bottle of ink, and a spare jacket. He slid the spare jacket on, and eyed the twiggy ground. He did not feel like sleeping there tonight. But he had no other choice. Sucking it up, he tied his horse to a tree, found an area without as much branches and laid down in his sleeping bag.

_Hoot! Hoo! Hoot!_

_HoooOOOOoooowl._

_Yip.Yip._

“Why is it so frightening here? Don’t animals sleep too?” Roman questioned, turning over in his sleeping bag, and hiding himself. The howling didn’t cease, but grew closer. His horse began to panic. Soon, Roman had no choice. He got up and tried to calm her down, offering her an apple as the howling grew a lot closer. Soon he could see eyes glittering in the moonlight. Sets of eyes. Teeth too.

“Oh…” Roman muttered. “Oh no.”

His horse tore itself from the tree and started running. Some of the wolves chased, but two didn’t. Instead, they stared at him, sharp eyes pinning him to a tree. Roman gripped the tree and found a branch—small, but fierce. His sword was still lying in his sleeping bag. Whoops. Maybe he should have grabbed that right away. “Nice doggy…nice doggy.”

It snapped at him and pinned him further to the tree. Its snout only inches away. Roman fumbled and all he felt was the apple still in his hand. He threw it in a far away direction. “Fetch!” The wolves regarded the apple with no interest, in fact one jumped at him. Roman screamed and threw the stick and took off running, trying not to trip. He stumbled and scratched his beautiful face and hands against branches. Roman glanced behind him to see how close they were and missed the large fallen tree in the way. He fell on his face and felt sharp teeth sink into his ankle. Roman screamed in pain and fright and kicked wildly. He was going to die.

Roman managed to break free and he ran again, his injured ankle slowing him down. Stumbling, he steadied himself against a tree as he felt something crash into his back. Death. He was truly going to die. The great, fiersome—and not to mention gorgeus—prince. As his second jacket protected him from some of the clawing he heard a loud crack. A branch. The wolf clawing him stiffened. From the trees, an even more fearsome monster appeared.

Skin as pale as a skeleton, eyes sunken in like a dead-man’s, and carrying the very aura of terror—the Warlock. He was holding a torch and one look at Roman in the wolves he gestured the with the torch, terrifying the wolf and causing them to dart away. Roman struggled to pull himself so he could run as well, but the Warlock was already upon him. The man propped his torch up in a gap of the tree and bent down to the injured Roman.

He took one sharp look at Roman and his eyes shot into his eyebrows. “The prince?” The Warlock questioned.

Roman wanted to bluff but, he was currently trying to get up and he was in a lot of pain. This was not going how he expected it to go. Firstly, he wasn’t interrogating the Warlock—who was kneeling over him and secondly—he was in a lot of pain. “Unnnngrh.” Was Roman’s dignified response. He felt the Warlock shift anxiously as he glanced behind Roman in the direction of the wolves. “Hang on, I’ll get you inside.” The Warlock disappeared for a moment, leaving the torch casting light over Roman who had managed to sit up, but that caused his wounds agony on his back. The jacket hadn’t completely saved him and the scratch marks that were starting to close, burst open when he sat up.

“Ow,” he murmured and looked around desperately for a weapon. The Warlock had returned—with a wheel barrow. Of course! To dump his dead body off into who knows where.

“It’s not great, but it’s what I have to get you up there. I can’t carry you that far,” the Warlock muttered nervously under his breath. He reached for Roman hesitantly and Roman pulled away. “Can you walk?”

“Yes.” Roman stupidly said, and attempted to stand, before wincing and stumbling. The Warlock caught him around the waist and gently helped him get into the wheelbarrow, trying to be mindful of his injuries. Roman was in pain and the moving was making it so much worse. “I’m dying.” He declared.

“Not yet,” the Warlock argued, sighing and then starting to push the wheelbarrow. Roman shuddered. It was cold, he was tired, he regretted coming here. He wanted to go home. Yet, the blood loss and shock of the pain hit him in a tidal wave, and despite the circumstances, he passed out. When he awoke—he was in front of a fireplace, shirtless, and covered with a soft blanket. He was left lying on his stomach, his head turned to the side so he could breath—bandages wrapped around his back tightly. Roman groaned and he heard a spoon fall into a bowl. Across the room sat the Warlock, eating a bowl of porridge.

He had never pegged evil doers to just eat a bowl of cereal in the morning. The Warlock wiped his mouth off and warily eyed Roman before depositing his bowl in the sink and inching forward. “You’re Roman, right, the prince?” the Warlock questioned uncertainly.

“Why,” Roman said, fighting the dry mouth, “do you want-” Roman started coughing, and with a jolt he realized he was sick. The warlock had cursed him! Promptly, the Warlock offered him a glass of water—that Roman refused for safety concerns. The Warlock frowned.

“Nothing’s been done to it,” the Warlock said.

“Don’t trust,” Roman said, before coughing again, the force of the coughs reopening the wounds. Cursing the Warlock sighed and retreated to the corner of the room, grabbing jars full of roots and flowers and poultices. He pulled down a book and flipped to a page before he began measuring out substances from each jar. Witchcraft! Roman coughed again and rolled over in agony in the bed. His body hurt everywhere! The Warlock clamored away and Roman suffered silently.

Until the Warlock stopped and moved back to the bed, the same glass of water and a poultice in a small cup with a spoon in it. “Take a spoonful of the medicine and then the water, it’ll help with the taste.” Roman shook his head. The Warlock narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“Why not? I’m trying to help you.”

“Poison me. Warlock!” Roman said between coughs, feeling his insides start to twist painfully. He groaned and with a sigh the Warlock grabbed the cup and spoon and scooped out a spoonful, he then braced himself and shoved it into Roman’s mouth as he started coughing. Roman gagged, and fought as the vile Warlock tried to poison him. The Warlock pinned him down as much as he could, hand over Roman’s nose and mouth so he had no choice, but to swallow.

Eventually, the battle was lost. Roman swallowed and the Warlock retreated, quickly wiping his hand on his cape and leaving the glass of water on the night-stand as he went outside, not staying around in the one room small home. Roman coughed, but the substance didn’t come up. It hadn’t tasted all that great and quickly downed some of the water. “Vile Warlock,” Roman muttered, surprised his voice had suddenly returned. It must be, because the Warlock was out of the room.

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for his death by poisoning, but it never came. Eventually, he fell asleep again. When he awoke, his bandages had been changed, his scrapes on his face wash-cleaned, and he felt a thicker bandage on his ankle. There had been one there earlier, but it must been temporary. Roman looked around to see where the Warlock had gone, but he was nowhere in sight. On the night stand was a glass of water, and a bowl of stew, and a note next to the cup and spoon from earlier.

“Take a spoonful. Eat. Went to find your horse—saw the tracks while gathering herbs.”

Roman eyed the food and the strange substance, but he unsurely speculated that maybe it _was_ medicine. What had Logan said? You can’t say something is something, until you’ve at least tested it a few times. He hadn’t died by poisoning, so maybe it wasn’t dangerous to take again. His cough had improved and Roman thought, just maybe, that poultice was helping. He took the medicine, took a drink of the water, but didn’t have a stomach for the stew. He turned over and buried himself in the covers, finding more on the side to throw over himself. When he awoke, the Warlock was back.

“Uhh…sleep well?” the Warlock ventured awkwardly, as he worked on hanging wet herbs to dry. The air smelt strongly of sage and various unidentifiable spices and it was both relaxing and full of memories. He was sharply reminded of Patton preparing medicine at times. Roman sunk into the bed, curling up comfortable. He noticed both of his jackets were lying on the nightstand and folded—badly mended, but mended and clean nonetheless. The thought touched him.

“Yeah, pretty good,” Roman wasn’t sure where to start on the accusations. If the Warlock had been this awful person and made rude comments it would be so much easier to say something to him. So much easier to hate him. He seemed mostly just awkward and unsure of social reactions.

“That’s…good,” the Warlock ventured, “Sorry, I’m not used to having guests over very often.”

“No—no, you’re fine,” Roman said courteously, feeling more comforted than before. He then remembered his illness, but he found it in only a faint niggling sensation in the back of his throat and a faint headache. The medicine had treated it. He eyed the spoon and cup and wondered if he should take another dose. The Warlock followed his eyes and nodded.

“You probably should, to be safe,” the Warlock answered his unasked question. The Warlock had turned his back on Roman and was sorting the herbs and storing them. Some he set off to the side to use later, others he mixed with water or a juice before storing it in a jar. Roman watched him curiously before he did take the spoonful of medicine and chased it down with water. He saw bread, sausage and cheese cut-up and still wafting warm streams of air from them. His hunger returned, Roman dug in, eating comfortable and trying to be semi-mindful about not covering the bed in crumbs. He noticed the warm fireplace still ran and that a few candles were lit as the sun had begun to set.  He wondered how long he had been asleep.

“W-” Roman stopped himself. That wasn’t likely the man’s name or preferred title. “Sir?” the man turned, dark eyes raising into eyebrows. “How long was I sleeping for.”

He noticed the small facial tick and then the tensing of the shoulders. The man, still maybe a warlock, was not expecting a good response after giving his answer. “A week. There was a sleeping mix mixed into the poultice, because you moved too much and tore open your wounds,” the Warlock said carefully and went back to mincing a herb and scraping its contents into a bowl. Roman tensed and he nearly exploded with anger. The Warlock had forced him into a slumber! How dare he. Roman could have minded the bandages fine and not torn them open—Patton always said he was a good patient. Roman made to argue, but he noticed the quiet way the Warlock had sunken into himself, shoulders tight and his body curled tightly to himself. He was expecting Roman’s anger, dreading it.

Roman’s anger soured and fizzed out. He took a deep breath and he forced himself to work through it like Logan always told him. _Take a deep breath, use reason? Why did they do it? Did they do it to harm you? No. He didn’t do it to harm you, he was trying to help you. You did tear open your bandages the first time._

“I guess…I did. Thank-you, sir,” Roman said amicably and noticed the way the Warlock’s eyes darted to him and the way part of the stiff posture cautiously unwounded.

“You’re welcome…your highness,” the Warlock said cautiously. “Sorry for the lack of formal address, I had almost forgotten.” The last part he said bitterly, causing Roman’s eyes to shoot into his eyebrows. He could feel the lull of sleepiness, but with his body in better health he fought it a bit.

“Did my father, or I, or the kingdom do something to you?” Roman asked and the Warlock paused in his work.

He tensed his shoulders and had a mental argument. “It’s not important. Just rest, your horse is being taken care of and you should be fit to leave in a day.” The Warlock quickly dismissed causing Roman to feel a bit miffed. He felt utterly relaxed, but clearly the Warlock was not—there was something wrong, and if it was something he did then he wouldn’t be a good guest to just ignore it. But the Warlock was retreating, finishing up his herb work and eying the door. He intended to leave until Roman slept again. Roman wasn’t letting that happen. He didn’t like lying or faking things, but he wasn’t above using tricks to save people. And this man clearly had a problem he needed saved from. Roman pretended to sleep and he waited, forcing himself not to actually fall asleep as the Warlock finished up. He felt eyes creep over his form where he pretended to be deep breathing.

The Warlock sighed. “Prince, I’m no fool.”

Roman cursed. He sat up again, rubbing his eyes as the Warlock rested against his counter and eyed Roman with a cat’s wariness. “Why do you wish to know so badly?”

Roman rubbed his eyes and took another drink of the water, the fatigue taking stronger hands. “I assumed the worst of you, and you’ve been nothing, but kind. As a gentleman, I would very much like to correct any errors I have not yet fixed in the way I approach you,” Roman suggested diplomatically. The Warlock didn’t buy it—or rather, he read some of what Roman was saying and found more meaning in it.

“Prince, why did you leave your castle and come into the woods?” the Warlock questioned and Roman thought about lying, but Patton would disapprove. Patton would always give him lectures on lying—especially when he lied to his father to get out of doing work.

“To find you…”

“Because?”

“Because I—may I say, wrongly, wrongly thought—or believed…that…” Roman stalled and the Warlock sighed, ran his hand over his face and pushed off the counter and went to the corner of the room next to a bookcase.

“Let me guess, you thought I’m the cause of the plague?” the Warlock ventured, and Roman’s gut twisted. The Warlock looked hurt for a spare moment, but he shielded it well. “No, but I know the cause. It’s been carried by livestock before and it just happens that livestock caught it again and spread it. Likely you picked up the disease from any number of possible interactions with livestock. I have the instructions for the cure. I can send it with you, and your healer can prepare the herbs and treat the ill. It shouldn’t be too hard. Its brutal, but easy to cure.” The Warlock listed off, his voice tired and monotone and Roman felt worst. “I’ll be back in a few days, when you awake, just take what’s yours, the cure and be gone.”

“Wait!” Roman said, but the Warlock didn’t listen, and he left Roman alone as he went out the door. Roman felt a sort of cold emptiness and he felt sorrow. He had hurt the Warlock deeply, but he was only adding to the overall hurt the Warlock felt. He was misunderstood and Roman made him feel worse. Roman could not fight off the sleep any longer, and he closed his eyes. He promised himself, that when he woke up, he would find the Warlock and talk to him. He wouldn’t let this misunderstanding continue.

…

True to his word, when Roman woke up—there was a note on top of his jackets and a few jars of herbs in a rough-sack with the parchment of the cure in it. There was jerky, and bread left out for him—but cold now in the morning air. The fire had waned and left the place feeling cold and lonesome. The Warlock was not anywhere Roman could see and Roman anxiously slid his jackets on and found his boots—lacing them up as he pondered what he was going to do. He went outside where he found his horse, saddle still intact and the horse looking awake and warm—covered by a thick blanket. Fed recently judging by her alertness. Roman attached the bag to her, but didn’t climb on. Instead, he saw his sword hanging from his sheath in the saddle and the ruined remains of his knapsack with his sleeping bag neatly left in it. Roman grabbed the sword, but not for harm—but because if there was another wolf he didn’t want to be hunted—or so he told himself. Part of him was still betraying his better nature and feared the Warlock.

 He found a well-worn path and followed it curiously, looking for any sign of the Warlock. He came to its end, a ledge over-looking a lake, but there was no Warlock in sight. Roman turned around and noticed the various large trees. The Warlock could be hiding in any number of these—or what if he had fallen off the ledge! Roman quickly peered over, concerned, and nearly fell over himself as wind swept fiercely by him. He started to inch away from the ledge, but the wind caught him, and he felt himself falling forward.

A hand grabbed the back of his jacket and he was balanced again, safely still on the ledge. The Warlock let go of him almost immediately, backing up, his eyes dancing with tiredness and wariness. The man didn’t look like he had slept for a…week. Roman had been occupying his bed and that made the man feel even more guilty. The Warlock didn’t speak to him and almost immediately backed off and disappeared down the path. Roman chased after him, trying not to seem threatening, but the Warlock was certainly quick on his feet.

“Wait, I just want to talk!” Roman cried as the Warlock disappeared behind a tree. Roman followed, but the man was gone from sight. Maybe he did know magic. Roman took a step forward, and then glanced up. The Warlock stared down at him. He was on a branch eight feet above the ground. He glared down at Roman. “Can we talk?”

“You’ve got me cornered, so fine—this is perfectly fine _your highness_ ,” the Warlock retorted sarcastically, with a bite. Roman felt like he had chased a cat into a tree and it was hissing at him. Roman took a breath. “Roman, my name’s Roman.”

The Warlock chuckled darkly. “Great, leave me alone, Roman.”

“What’s your name?” Roman tried and the Warlock nearly groaned.

“Just leave.”

“Not until I get your name.”

“Promise you’ll leave.”

Roman didn’t want to leave, even after that. He didn’t want to leave the Warlock alone like this, but if this was the only way.

“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Roman said, putting a hand on his heart and the Warlock rolled his eyes.

“Virgil. The name’s Virgil. Now leave,” the Warlock—Virgil told him.

Roman was going to get crap from Patton about this kind of trick. “I didn’t promise, I swore on something that doesn’t exist—I don’t know my mother.” Virgil’s eyes narrowed and he glared daggers at Roman. He—to Roman’s surprise—he dropped down from the tree and pointed a finger into Roman’s chest.

“You’re a jerk, Roman, _Prince_ , _your majestic highness_ ,” Virgil spat. “This is why I don’t like the kingdom. This—all of this—is why I’m sometimes glad I was exiled for having magic—because of pretentious princes like you.” And Roman saw the vines on the tree behind Virgil begin to shudder, the tree began to creak ominously, and the plants in front of Virgil began to lean away from him. Roman stood his ground as he realized something very familiar about Virgil. He was the one so long ago when Roman was a kid—where they chased a Warlock out for causing a disaster.

Virgil was a Warlock—but not a terrifying dangerous Warlock—he was a terrified warlock who had been left to fend for himself at a young-age. His only magic was plants—he just had mild control over plants. Or that’s what Roman was really hoping for, because Virgil seemed nice at the core. Roman stood his ground. “I’m sorry Virgil—I’m sorry they exiled you—but that was my grandfather—not my father or me. You can return. Come with me.”

Virgil shook his head, but Roman saw he was crying. He let the plants drop and shoved past Roman, heading back to his hut. As Roman followed after him, Virgil slammed the door, leaving Roman standing in front of the hut. Roman stood there for a moment before he knocked. There wasn’t a response. Idly, he eyed his horse and with a deep sigh, he went to his horse.

Maybe sleeping on the ground wasn’t as bad the second time around. He grabbed the sleeping bag, laid it out in front of Virgil’s door, and huddled there. It wasn’t dark out, but it was warmer than just waiting without it. Time dragged by, but Roman sat there, beginning to doubt his plan. Logan hopefully hadn’t gotten sick—and what if Patton had gotten worse—and his father. But it was his duty to save people—and Virgil’s life was just as important. Roman curled up against the door and closed his eyes. Maybe he should just take a nap.

He was awoken by a yelp the next day. Virgil had tripped over him, and landed ungracefully on his face—covering himself in dirt. Roman quickly helped him up—apologizing. His arms and legs felt stiff and he realized how cold he was. “Virgil, hey, are you okay?” Virgil got up quickly and glared at him and then at the sleeping bag.

“Were you sleeping in that outside my house?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t you just leave?” Virgil said, exhausted. He sat there on the ground for a moment, idly pulling at the grass.

“Because you’re not happy here—and I don’t think its fair,” Roman said and Virgil shook his head.

“Roman, listen to me, I’m fine here,” Virgil argued, reaching out to grab Roman by the shoulder, but hesitating. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Roman pointed out, and Virgil stood up, heading back to his cabin. Roman followed, quickly getting in Virgil’s way.

“Move, Princey,” Virgil muttered.

“Come with me—you can help me treat the sick!” Roman offered and Virgil shook his head.

“You have your healer—just have him-”

“He’s sick.”

“Roman-”

“Please.”

“And if I say yes?”

“I’ll guarantee no one ever forces you out. You can help Patton—he’s been needing an assistant. You’ll be welcome to all the kingdom has to offer—I’ll accompany you anywhere you don’t feel safe and protect you!” Roman offered, and Virgil looked petrified.

“Roman, that’s a big thing to just offer someone—how are you supposed to-”

“I’m the best prince, of course I can,” Roman argued.

Virgil laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound Roman had ever heard. “You have too big of an ego.”

Roman offered Virgil his hand, “Come with me?”

“Yes.”

_And so the lovely Prince and the shy, handsome and talented Warlock went to the castle. They were just in time!_

Logan was pacing nervously outside of Patton’s door when Roman made it up there, one of his hands still clenching Virgil’s wrist as he raced up there. Virgil looked more nervous by the minute and Logan had bags under his eyes. “There you are!” Logan’s eyes were focused on Roman, “Patton’s stopped being able to get out of bed—and Thomas…Thomas is on death’s door.”

“We found a cure,” Roman said and Logan’s eyes moved from Roman to Virgil. “We? Oh, I see. And you are?”

“Virgil,” Virgil mumbled, and Logan noticed his bag of herbs he clenched tightly to himself. He was nervous as hell and Roman moved his hand from his wrist to his back.

“Come on, we can introduce each other properly later, let’s treat my father, and then we can treat Patton,” Roman said, gently guiding Virgil as Logan followed behind them, silently, analyzing the situation and watching Virgil carefully. When they reached the king’s chambers, Roman turned to Virgil and held him by the shoulders. “Virgil, I trust you. I’m going to give you space to work.”

Virgil nervously looked to the side, “I don’t need space—but thank-you, Roman.”

“Of course, go in there, Virgil.” Virgil cast a nervous look at Roman and Logan before heading into the King’s chamber, bag in hand. Logan watched him go in before turning to Roman.

“I see you’ve met the Warlock and found that _he_ was _not_ in fact the cause of the disease?” Logan questioned. “Although, I didn’t know he would know about herbal concoctions for illnesses.” Logan was ever the analyst and he seemed relieved now. His shoulders slackening. “Even though your trusting abilities are terrible at times—I do support you on this decision.”

“Glad you have faith in me, Logan,” Roman said and Logan shook his head.

“No, I have faith in the Warlock—I did some research and I came close to the same solution. I was one herb off—but those herbs match up with what I found. I was just missing the key piece,” Logan argued, adjusting his spectacles. Roman glowered at him.

“And you say my ego is bad,” Roman muttered and Logan just flashed him a minute smile.

“The difference is I have the knowledge to back it up.”

Virgil reappeared a moment later, and Roman smiled brightly at him. Virgil nervously twisted, “I think—I think the poultice and the feverfew should help—I administered some poppy into the mix, but I don’t know if—if it’ll be enough. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“I have a feeling it’ll work,” Roman said confidently. “Now, let’s go treat Patton!”

_And that marked Thomas’s flu breaking, his heart and emotions rising back up from their depression—Patton being the sweetheart he is apologized for not being able to help. The unlikely alliance between Anxiety and Creativity during the time shocked Logic—but he never told either of them about that. Logan felt less driven without Patton around, but he soon was suffocated by the over-bearing comforting Patton tried to give him, when he realized Patton seemed to have tired himself out. Creativity, quick to assume that the lack of creativity and sudden illness was brought on by stress, accepted that Anxiety had a good hand in fixing the situation, directing their focus and with the power of Creativity and Anxiety—they found a time in their schedule to get Thomas to the doctor and complete all the assignments—including the ones Logic failed to figure out._

 

_“And that_ …was the time Thomas got the flu!” Roman said, “How’d you like it?”

Virgil stared at him hard, but tilted his head and chose his words carefully. “Roman…your room and you…are…”

“I know, I know,” Roman waved it off, “Magnificient.”

“You really do see things in a weird light, Princey,” Virgil said and Roman hugged him close. Roman’s room looked like it came out of a fairy-tale, but it also was still Thomas’s personality warped into it. “Not to mention, you described me for most of the story as a horrifying beast. I mean…you don’t actually—I’m not.”

Roman’s laughter quickly quieted, and he cupped Virgils’ cheek, causing the other man to shy away some, but Roman only rested his forehead against Virgil’s and pulled him into the hug tighter. “I’m sorry for that characterization, Virgil. I mean it in jest, but I don’t take your feelings into account, and I’m sorry for the grief I cause you,” Roman meant sincerely and Virgil absently returned the hug.

“And I almost thought I was the villain,” Virgil muttered into Roman’s shoulder and Roman nodded.

“I know, my sweet and fragile heart—I once thought you were too and I’m sorry for thinking you caused Thomas’s grief that time and for the many other times I wrongly accused you,” he said, burying his face into Virgil’s neck. Virgil gently patted him on the head and blushed, but didn’t fight against the hug. He let Roman pull him down until they were lying next to each other on Roman’s over-dramatic bed. Virgil lay back, hands behind his head as Roman began describing another time—that Virgil could remember clearly, because he was part of Thomas too—but Roman’s spin had him closing his eyes and imagining a total different story. “So, remember when…”

Roman looked over at Virgil as he spoke and saw him breathing deeply and just smiled and watched him.

“I’m still awake,” Virgil said, opening an eye to look at Roman and Roman blushed, and continued the story as Virgil unconsciously shifted closer to Roman as the man smiled gently at him. Again, Virgil closed his eyes and Roman relaxed into the story, closing his eyes and sinking into the bed, hands gesturing in the air as he spoke.

“This time, my heart, you were the most beautiful Prince, but so distant and hurt, and this is the time I saved you from a much more terrible Villain!”

“Who?”

“Your self-doubt and criticisms.”

Virgil opened his eyes and eyed the closed-eyed Roman with cautious territory.

“I don’t think that’s happened yet,” Virgil ventured cautiously.

“This is a future story, if you want to hear the how—you’ll have to listen!” Roman cried in exaggeration, suddenly attacking Virgil in a hug again, his eyes wide open. Virgil submitted, but he lay against Roman, his eyes closed and breathing quietly.

“Thank-you, Roman.”

“Course, my heart. Now let’s begin.”

 


End file.
